Kill No Angels
by lookskindagreyout
Summary: An obsessive fic, I must admit. Peter and Olivia are abducted, leaving their savior in the one person that really can't be relied on for such things- Walter. No pairings, sorry.
1. Chapter 1

Salutations, and thank you for flying FaustAir…erm, wait…

And, at last, my true colors come to light. I'm a Walter fan, and it's shameful, I know. I wrote this fic simply to obsess, but, as I'm sure I don't have to tell you, obsession is a _good_ thing. I'm having a hard time choosing a second favorite character, but I was fond of The Observer…

Forgive the intro to this one, I know it's written a bit precariously. I just had to get the beginning facts out there, however flavorless they may seem. It'll pick up, I swear. I refrain from voicing my concerns, 'cos it may make my writing appear feeble. Regardless of my insecurities, please enjoy/endure.

*Fringe is in no way affiliated to yours truly. Those experiments a few years back _do not _count.

Prologue.

She paused at the door of room a21. Taking a deep breath, she raised her hand to strike the door three times. The strikes suddenly seemed weak, timid, and echoed with hollowness in the empty hall. What was she doing? She didn't have time for this, it was too soon…

Before her spinning indecision could encompass her and turn her away, the door opened a crack. A single eye looked out at her, and she suddenly felt quite small, on-the-spot, and embarrassed. More unease swept over her as the wrong voice asked softly, "Olivia?"

Gathering her wits, she replied, "Hello, Walter."

"Please, come in," Walter stepped away for the threshold, swinging the door open wide, "You'll have to forgive the mess…"

Olivia stepped into the apartment, glancing around timidly as she took in the sights of her new surroundings. It was not the first time she'd been here, but it was her first time to be at the apartment for something casual, "So… is Peter in?"

Walter paused, then blinked slowly, "Um…no. He's…he's doing _something_…" he concentrated, then shook his head, "why? Did something happen?"

"No," Olivia answered, "It's just, um-"

Realization suddenly swept over Walters' features, "Oh, yes- your date. I'm sorry, I forgot."

"It's not a date…" Olivia protested weakly, a blush tracing her features.

"He told me to tell you something," Walter said, ignoring her comment as he shuffled into the compact kitchen. Strangeness settled over Olivia, and she suddenly realized the uncharacteristic garb the doctor wore, consisting of loose blue jeans and a black tee-shirt. His bare feet were soundless as he strode across the kitchen tiles to retrieve a highlighter-pink sticky note for the refrigerator.

"Walter, what are you wearing?" Olivia questioned, raising a brow.

"Oh," Walter chuckled, plucking at his garb, "these are some of Peter's things. He's out doing laundry- that was the message I was supposed to give you. They're much too big for me, I think…"

"Wait, Peter's out doing _laundry_?" Olivia questioned flatly, anger twinging her.

Walter glanced around, and leaned close to her, "No," he whispered, and winked.

Olivia looked confused, "What?"

Walter looked pleased with himself, "Would you like something to drink? Soda, coffee? I like to mix my sodas- but not with my coffee…"

"Where is Peter, Walter?" Olivia asked, her alarm rising as he turned back to the refrigerator and began to poke around inside.

"Doing laundry," Walter said in sing-song, straitening with a bottle of Hawaiian Punch and ginger ale and shutting the door with his knee, "Don't worry, he'll be back. He's just nervous, is all. Don't worry."

Olivia was silent as he poured two glasses of soda mixes, and she processed his words, "Nervous?"

"I'm not at liberty to say much," Walter smiled, handing her a glass, "Straw?"

"No. Walter, I don't understand. Peter's out doing laundry because he's _nervous_?"

Walter shrugged, leading the way into the living room as he sipped his drink through a straw. He sighed as he flounced onto the sofa, "Ah- that's good. Please, have a seat."

Olivia felt her anger burst, "Unbelievable! The first guy I date in a _year_, and I get set up with his _dad_!"

"Olivia," Walter said softly, breaking her rage suddenly. He watched her over the back of the couch, his eyes sparkling distantly, "please, stick around."

Flustered beyond repair, Olivia sighed, looking down into her drink. She shook her head, and moved to take a seat on the sofa.

"You look nice," Walter offered, taking another drink and motioning to her black skirt and blouse "I'm sorry that my own garb is of no complement."

"Thanks. You wouldn't have any vodka to put in this, would you?"

Walter chuckled softly, picking up the videogame controller from the low coffee table, "Have you tried these 'videogames'? I'm afraid Peter's gotten me addicted to them. I am surprised to see that virtual reality seemed to grow stagnant, while _I_ grew stagnant…" he unpaused the game, a cellar scene of a horror game popping onto the screen, "It had such promise…"

"Walter, I still don't understand where Peter is, and what he's doing."

"I really dislike repeating myself, Olivia," Walter warned, his eyes unmoving from the television screen, "Peter is out doing a bit of laundry so I can change out of these ridiculous clothes, and I believe it would be best if you simply waited for him."

"If Peter isn't going to bother to show up, I'm leaving," Olivia said finally, getting to her feet, "Tell him I said _thanks_."

"Write it down, I'll forget. Oh, I seem to have been promoted to 'slayer'," Walter mused, "lovely."

Biting back her hurt pride and precarious feelings, Olivia started for the door, "Goodnight, Walter."

"Olivia, wait!" Walter exclaimed, and she looked back to see him scrambling over the back of the sofa, "listen," he said, extending a hand in a gesture of ease, "you're being just as nervous and stupid as he was. If I let you leave here before you've both sorted things out, He'll hate himself, you'll hate you, and you'll both hate me."

Olivia felt shocked, and gaped openly at the doctor.

Walter sighed, scratched the back of his neck, and returned to the couch, sipping his drink glumly, "The decadence of youth escapes me," he grumbled, returning to his game.

Realization struck Olivia like a lightning bolt. The year after John had tried to kill her…after the man she loved had died, and she had found she had never known what he truly was…and all this time, she had been holding back her feelings, afraid of what might happen if she opened her heart again. But what she hadn't paused to consider was the fact that she was not alone in her fear. Peter was a certifiable genius; there had to be a reason he had fallen in with bad people, and a reason he kept running away, shutting out the people who cared for him, just as she did…

Olivia found her way back to the couch and took a seat beside Walter, awed at her own blindness. Walter glanced over at her, and pushed her drink toward her as he slaughtered a zombie with a chainsaw. She took the glass and sipped quietly, feeling sheepish, "Thank you, Walter," she said at last, "I was being stupid and scared, and- thank you."

Walter let out a cry of surprise and morbid delight as a zombie plunged its teeth into his characters' throat, essentially ending the game, "Did you see that?! How delightfully morose!"

Olivia laughed softly, "Yeah. Amazing."

There was a rattling and the door of the apartment was bumped open as Peter pushed his way in, a mounded basket of laundry in his arms, "Walter?" He called, "Walter, I got most of the folding done, but these need to be sorted…" he paused as Olivia stood, turning to him, "…Olivia," he exclaimed, taken aback. "I thought you…"

"Hey," she smiled, "Are you ready to go?"

"I-uh, listen, Olivia-" Peter stammered.

"Get dressed and get out, jackass," Walter said loudly, and screams erupted from the television speakers as he let loose with a flamethrower.

"Um, yeah…" he set the laundry on the kitchen counter, "Just give me a minute?" and he fairly sprinted into the bedroom. In moments he emerged, pulling a jacket over a fresh shirt, "So um…shall we?" and he offered his arm.

Olivia smiled again, and took his arm, "Let's go."

Walter glanced up as he heard the door snap shut, "You're _welcome_," he mumbled, mashing buttons as he leaned forward to take another drink. He yelped again, laughed with glee, and continued.

Chapter one.

He awoke to the glint of light flashing in his face, making him squint, and a relentless, high beep sounding in his ears. He could not hear the whispers, not yet. Grunting in annoyance, Walter lifted a hand to block the light as pushed himself up from the sofa. He coughed and rubbed the middle of his sore chest, pushing the mist from his eyelashes with his fingertips. He glanced up at the television, where the words 'YOU ARE DEAD' flashed in red repeatedly. Two empty soda bottles littered the floor under the coffee table.

Walter slid his palm over his own face, feeling the scratch of newly arrived facial hair on his chin, and his fingers moved down to scratch his throat. He frowned slightly when he realized he still wore his son's clothing. His thoughts came to rest on the cell phone buzzing and beeping and flashing on the tabletop in an attempt to gain his attention.

He scooped up the phone and flipped it open with his chin, clearing his throat and asking groggily, "Hello?"

"Dad?"

"Peter?" Alarm pricked Walters' senses sharply; Peter did not refer to him as 'dad' or 'father'. It hurt a bit, but something was obviously amiss.

"Dad, I won't be home tonight. See if you can record the Jets game for me, will you? The instructions are on the fridge, 'kay?" His voice was cheery, falsely so. Walter could hear a tense silence behind his son's voice.

"Alright, Peter. I'll do my best. Is Olivia well?" he questioned, sitting up and blinking to clear his head.

"She's with me, she's fine. I've got to go, dad. Remember- instructions on the fridge. Try not to forget."

"Yes, I won't. fridge, got it." He rubbed his forehead, hoping the information would stay in place.

"Okay. I love you, dad." there was a tremor in Peter's voice, and Walter felt himself twitch. If there was any doubt in his mind of an error, it was gone.

"_Ouch_, Peter," Walter whispered.

Peter chuckled softly, and the line went dead.

Walter got to his feet, switching off the television and stumbling into the kitchen. A single sticky note shown on the shiny steel surface of the refrigerator, where Peter had scrawled, _in case of emergency_ followed by a telephone number. Walter plucked up the note, and carefully dialed the number into his cell phone, followed by the 'send' button. Walter bit his lip with worry as he set the phone to his ear.

The numbing tone sounded three times in his head, his stomach twisting into a knot as the answering machine picked up; "Hi, you've reached Agent Astrid Finesworths' phone. I'm not available right now, so please leave your name and number and I'll get back to you. Bye!" and a beep sounded.

"Um, Aster, uh- it's Walter, Walter Bishop. It- well, something bad has happened, and I think Peter and Olivia may be in trouble. I don't know my own number, I can't seem to get a handle on this cell phone thing…so, um…I don't know what to do." He knew how distressed and helpless his own voice had sounded, at the end, and gave an effort to maintain his composure. He sighed, rubbing his temples, "Perhaps you can get a hold of agent Broyals, or something. I just… I don't know what to do." he paused, wracking his brain for a solution, and finding only vapors of unfathomable thought, "I'm going to the lab," he said at last, and snapped the phone shut.

Walter's senses were electrified with anxiousness as he went about, pulling on his own clothes and shoes. He grabbed his wallet and keys, stuffing them into the pocket of his overcoat with the cell phone. He shut off the lights and locked the door as he hurried outside.

It was raining heavily, and he immediately cursed his non-existent umbrella as he pulled up the collar of his coat around his neck, large, icy raindrops splashing his face. He paused and thought about going back for an umbrella, then decided against it, lest he somehow forget his objective. Truthfully, he didn't know why he was going to the lab- perhaps he felt safe, there…more in control, as if being surrounded by his research equipment would somehow inspire him with a solution to his distress. His son was in danger, and he didn't want to know what to do. He felt slightly sick, and cursed his lack of ability.

Walter stood, staring at the car glumly as yet another problem presented itself. He didn't have a license, he hadn't driven in sixteen years…the damn things were more like driving a spacecraft, now days. No, he knew Boston well enough- he'd walk to the station.

He sludged miserably down the sidewalk, wrapped in his cold thoughts and soaked trench coat. God, Peter… he'd never forgive himself, if he were hurt, or worse…

Walter came to his senses to find himself climbing over the stone wall of a cemetery, dropping onto his feet on the other side. The soles of his shoes squeaked in the wet grass as he strode between the headstones, avoiding each carefully as he made his way to the opposing wall. He jumped to catch a hold and scramble up the wall, heaving himself over to the street on the other side. Panting slightly, he wiped his lips, continuing on down the sidewalk.

The flash of car headlights illuminated the rain, and he looked up as he was hailed, "Walter!" the voice was familiar, and he heard the slam of a car door, "What the hell are you doing out here?!"

Walter felt awkward as he shaded his eyes and Astrid stopped before him, glaring from under her umbrella. "Did you know I haven't taken this route to the University in nearly twenty years? But my feet still remember it…"

She took his elbow, pushing him toward the headlights, "Walter, get into the car," she said flatly, and he did as he was told. Astrid slid into the driver's seat and put the car into drive as they pulled away from the curb, "Here, take this- you're dripping all over my upholstery," She pushed a towel into his hands, "I got your message- what the hell is going on?"

Walter dried his face, pushing his wet bangs from his eyes, "Peter and Olivia are in trouble." he said simply.

"How do you know?" Astrid asked skeptically.

Walter frowned at the resentment in her voice, "I didn't imagine this. Peter called me, and there was something amiss, I could hear it."

"Wait- so, Peter called you? What did he say?"

"Why are we going back to the apartment? I need to go to the lab. Peter asked me to record the Jets game, because he won't be coming home tonight."

Astrid disguised her laugh with a cough, a bad disguise, and Walter furrowed his brows in annoyance, "So, that's it? Just the Jets game?"

"Yes." Walter said stiffly.

"Walter, I think-"

"He also called me 'dad', told me he loved me, and there _is_ no Jets game on tonight, even if Peter liked Football, which he doesn't, because all of you people out here seem to have an unfathomable addiction to _baseball_, of all sports-"

"Walter, you're rambling," Astrid interrupted, "So, he was acting strangely. Are you sure he hadn't been drinking? Did he sound distressed?"

"No."

She let a few moments pass, and he sensed she was allowing him to realize the error in his own reply. Walter sighed, turning his head to look directly at her, his cold, blue gaze unwavering, "I know something is wrong. I know my son. He said he loved me- Peter…" He trailed off, turning his flushed face back to the window, "Peter doesn't love me."

There was silence a little longer in the car, and Astrid then suggested, "Why don't I call him, and if he answers and anything seems wrong, I-"

"What time is it?"

"Two thirty, about."

Walter shook his head, "It's far too late. If he and Olivia _were_ being held, then their captors would know something was amiss. We-we need to get a hold of your boss and locate them- the FBI can do that, right? Something about tracking cell phones, or …something?"

Astrid sighed, and started in a reasoning tone, "Walter-"

"Stop the car," He said suddenly.

"What?"

"Stop the damn car!" he hissed, and she pulled to a stop. Walter unfastened his seatbelt and kicked the door open, stepping out. He tossed the towel back onto the seat and slammed the door. He jammed his hands into his pockets, storming off into the rain in the direction of the university.

Astrid turned the car around, rolling down the window to call his name as she slowed to stay with his long strides, "Walter, what are you doing?!"

"I don't have time for this! I don't have time for you to be questioning me like an idiot! I _know_ I'm insane- but just once, I know what the hell I'm talking about! My son is in danger, and so help me if anyone thinks they are going to stop me from getting him back!"

"Walter, _stop_! Get back in the car- I'll call Broyals, alright? Just get back in the car-"

The bark of a pistol report cut through the rain sharply, and Walter stumbled as he felt a burning pain graze his shoulder blade. There was another shot, at the glass of Astrid's window fractured, "Get in the car!" She cried as more shots rang out. Walter clutched his shoulder, hot blood running through his fingers as he stumbled to the other side of the car and scrambled inside, barely taking his foot from the pavement before Astrid put the gas petal to the floor.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter two.

"Do you think we were followed?" Walter asked as he sat on the gurney in his undershirt. Aster dabbed a cotton swab at the deep wound that nearly spanned the back of his left shoulder blade from end to end. He hissed at the sting.

Astrid shook her head as she readied the syringe of anesthetic, "No. I didn't see anyone."

"So much for not arousing suspicion in Peter and Olivia's captors," Walter smiled wryly, "And you said Royal was having someone track them now?"

"Yes. I called, and he said he'd get his men right on it," She raised the needle to his skin, and he caught her by the wrist.

"Please," he said, "Allow me."

"You can't reach where I need to stitch, Walter."

His face tightened, "Very well."

Carefully she applied the drug, "Are you afraid of needles?"

"A bit. I think I became a doctor simply to be on the other end of them." he grimaced as he felt a slight tug on his numbed skin as Astrid pulled the sterilized needle and thread into place on his wound, "I'll admit that sticking to the drab first aid did get tedious, however, and fortunately what I lacked in interest I seemed to make up for in talent…"

Astrid chuckled softly, "Are you bragging, Doctor Bishop?"

He smiled, "No. I'm just trying to impress you with my transparent sciolism of common practice medicine. It's how I get the girls."

Astrid laughed, then sobered, "You know, what you said about Peter… about him not loving you…that's not true."

Walter folded his hands in his lap, pressing his thumbs together. He said nothing.

"He might not say it, but… he does. Hell, I barely know either of you, and I can see that. It's just that he's like you- you don't _say_ it, but…you do."

Walter raised a brow, "I don't get it."

"You do. You know what I'm talking about." Astrid finished up her small, neat stitches, dabbing the blood away with a cotton swab. He twitched at her careful fingertips brushing his skin as she applied a long, white bandage over the stitches, "Anyways, I don't think it would be safe for you to go back to you and Peters' apartment, as whoever this is knows where you live. Broyals said it would probably be best if you stayed here at the lab."

Walter looked glum, "But…I only have a few more levels, and I'll get to the dungeon Mini-boss…"

Astrid laughed, rising and gathering the first aid kit to return it to one of the cabinets. Walter pulled on a fresh, bleached lab coat over his undershirt, buttoning it thoughtfully around his shoulders. _whoever this is knows where you live_…

They may have followed Olivia to the apartment. A pretty blonde girl, she wasn't easy to loose in a crowd… had she walked? No, it was too far, and about a million people in the state drove black Ford mustangs. She didn't have government plates on the car, like he used to, when he drove his piece-of-crap Station Wagon…anyways, it would be difficult, but not impossible, to follow Olivia. Did they watch her come in? Perhaps they had the apartment cased _before_ she'd arrived… but how? There were literally thousands of apartments in their residential district, and they hadn't used anything on the lease that would indicate it was paid on government funds. Hell, they hadn't even used their real names to rent, and Walter only went out with Peter, never by himself.

…._never by himself…_

"…I hadn't used that route in nearly twenty years," Walter whispered to himself, catching Astrid's attention, "And trespassing a graveyard is not a normal route by any stretch of the imagination…"

"Walter?" Astrid said, breaking him out of his thoughtful daze, and he looked up at her, "Is there something I can get you, while I'm out?" She braced herself for his odd reply.

"An éclair, if you would be so kind. Um, do you know the number of someone important at Massive Dynamic?"

The rain had cleared up by mid-morning, and the sun seemed to be exceedingly bright as it reflected the moisture in the air. It was muggy, and he ignored the sting of salt on his stitches as he made his way up the steps to the towering Massive Dynamic building. He supposed that it was to seem impressive, daunting, even… but, truthfully, something about it just seemed to piss him off. He tried to keep his unfounded aggression in check as he stopped, holding the large, glass door open for Astrid to enter, and he followed in behind her.

A brunette with too dark a shade of lipstick looked up as they entered, and raised a hand in askance for another few seconds. She tapped her blue tooth and said quietly, "I'm sorry, sir, Mr. Belle is in a meeting. But I'll transfer you to his personal secretary, and I'm sure she can take a message. Have a nice day." and she pressed a button on the phone. She looked up at Astrid, and glanced back at Walter, who strayed behind, "Can I help you?"

"Yes, good morning," Astrid said, "We're here to see Mr. Belle. We have an appointment."

The desk girl looked down at her computer screen, "…Bishop?"

"That's me," Walter said softly, approaching at last.

She lifted a clipboard and a pen and pushed it toward him, "Sign in, please." he scratched his name on the line, and noted her dark red nail polish as she took the items back for him, and she motioned toward the open elevator. Astrid moved to follow him inside, and the secretary stopped her, "Ma'am, I'm sorry, but you don't seem to have an appointment."

Astrid glanced up at Walter, who nodded affirmatively. Reluctantly, Astrid moved to take a seat in the lobby.

Walter tensed in alarm as the elevator shut on its own, and began to move upward. There were no buttons to select a floor, and the only features of the stainless steel room were handrails and a small security camera in the upper corner, where the door had slid shut. Walter gazed absently at the tiny, glinting lens for a few moments in silence, and retuned his attention to the doors as the elevator came to a halt and they slid open.

He blinked in the new, dim lighting if the morning sun through blinds in the eleventh story office and stepped out of the elevator. It shut behind him.

A pretty blonde woman with cheerful green eyes greeted him, "Good morning! Could I get your name, sir?"

"Um, Bishop," He said, slightly taken aback at her bright disposition in a place that seemed to radiate cold unfeelings, "Doctor Walter Bishop."

She typed a few keys on her laptop, and nodded, "Okay, Doctor Bishop. I'm going to need you to sign in, and have a seat while I see if Mr. Belle is in."

"Okay," he said, scrawling out his name again and returning the clipboard to her, "Thank you." and he took a seat on one of the low chairs across from the desk, folding his hands in his lap to press his thumbs together in his slight nervousness.

"Mr. Belle will only be a few minutes, Doctor," The secretary said, "Can I get you something, while you wait?"

"Coffee?" He asked hopefully.

She smiled, "Alright." and she hurried around the corner toward the staffroom.

Walter sat back, sighing quietly. His shoulder gave a twinge, and he sat back up hurriedly. He didn't know what to think. He didn't want to think. He shook his head to clear away the whispers. He hadn't seen Belley in nearly two decades. He'd ended up institutionalized, and Belley had gone on to establish a huge corporation, based on the research they had done, so long ago…was he jealous? Angry? This man who had known him so well, they seemed to pick up on each others thoughts… was this what betrayal felt like?

His thoughts strayed to his sudden craving for an éclair, as his pica for sweets usually meant he was on to something. Sugar was something he needed, to think semi-clearly, and he knew it was unhealthy. Belley knew where his son was. He would kill him, if he had to, friend or no.

He snapped to attention as the secretary set a tray on the table to his left, containing a large Styrofoam cup of hot coffee and a small pile of creamers and packets of sugar. Walter smiled at her, "You're a darling. Thank you." And she returned to the desk.

Walter found himself liking the pretty secretary, in her professional demeanor and demure looks. It was rare, as he never thought to look at people deeper than what was on the surface, but he found himself comfortable to look at her as one looks at a painting in passing glance. He mused with his coffee, pouring in two creamers and all of the sugar packets, giving it a stir and sipping. It was slightly weak, but he drowned out the taste with the sugar.

Walter chanced a glance up at the secretary to see her push her short bangs behind her ear, glimpsing a blue butterfly earring. He felt a shy grin touch his own face. Something about her reminded him of Olivia, when she wasn't paying attention and was being herself. He returned to his coffee.

She hailed him at last, "Doctor Bishop? Mr. Belle will see you now." and she motioned to the hallway.

Walter nodded, rising and departing her company. He strode down the long hall toward the office door, passing framed advertising posters that lined the mahogany paneled walls. He paused, swallowing as he twisted the brass knob in his trembling hand and let himself inside.

The office had glass walls, all window to look out over the city as it glinted in the morning light. A large oak desk sat in the middle of the room, and a tall-backed leather office chair was turned away from him, and he could feel his feet and hands tingling as he cleared his throat. The chair turned. "Walter," someone smiled breathlessly, "Walter Bishop."

Walter blinked in confusion. A woman sat in the chair, her dark red hair cropped at shoulder length to make her dark grey eyes look stern. Slight wrinkles of age traced the edges of her face as she smiled. She got to her feet, approaching him, _"Look_ at you! God, how long has it been, nineteen, twenty years? Come here!" He flinched away as she moved to hug him, and she smiled wryly, "Ah, yes, I forgot that you don't like being touched. I can see not to terribly much has changed."

"Who…?"

She laughed softly, "You don't remember me, Walter? Nina, Nina Sharpe. We met when you got thrown out of a lecture at the university for arguing? Those were good times. I worked with you and Belle in the lab, before…anyways, what can I do for you?"

Something clicked in his mind, and Walter exclaimed, "Nina! The candidate volunteer, that year?" He could remember her following him around the lab, her young eyes filled with curiosity and awe as she watched him… thinking back, she had been quite a looker. Belley had always had it for her.

She looked sheepish, "Yes. I'll admit age has not been kind, but I keep my own…"

"…But where's Belley?" Walter continued, and a frown crossed her face.

"Mr. Belle regrets that he cannot be here in person to play catch-up," Sharpe said, striding to the window, "But I'm sure that I can help you, whatever you need."

Walter considered for a few moments, clearing his throat in decision. Any help was better than none at all, even if he suddenly found himself distrusting Nina Sharpe, "My son, Peter," Walter said uneasily, "You remember him?"

"Yes. A very bright little boy, looked just like you. How old is he, now?"

"Um, twenty three, I think. He's gone missing."

Sharpe turned back to him, aching a dark brow, "Oh?"

He knew immediately that she had been aware of Peter's disappearance. His face reddened slightly, "You know where he is, Miss Sharpe. Don't try to lie- I may have lost my edge in the sanitarium, but I'm not stupid." he stepped toward her threateningly, "Tell me where he is."

Sharpe chuckled, "I always knew you weren't a feeble man, Walter. Hell, to those of us down in the basement, you were the closest thing to Jesus. But you are different, now. You seem weaker, distracted. Peter keeps you sane, doesn't he?"

"Give me back my son," Walter warned darkly.

"And now, you're scrambling to get him back, because everything is slipping away from you. You need him, because you're a monster." she smiled coldly, "What is it with you, Walter? Keeping your pains and your pleasures in the same pocket, like a self crucifixion. Such a masochist. The boy hates you, and that makes your love stronger."

He barred his teeth and slammed his fist into the glass above her head, pinning her against the wall as he glared piercingly into her eyes. She did not flinch, her own eyes slightly glossy with a mixture of awe and glee. "Give me back my son, or I will kill you." it was a cold, soft command, black with anger that welled from the core of his body, twisted with a madness that bleached his blue irises nearly white.

Sharpe reached out to touch his chest, the whirr of her mechanical wrist faint as she stared unblinkingly into his eyes, "Oh, Walter," she whispered softly, a grin curving her shadowed lips, "do you know how long it's been since the last time you killed me?"

He raised a hand to press the tip of the syringe into the skin of her neck, his face like stone. Sharpe stilled, "…But perhaps you have a point," She said, breaking eye contact and swallowing, "So I'll make you a deal."

Walter removed the needle, and Sharpe raised a hand to touch the pinprick of blood on her neck, "What do you want?" he asked gruffly.

"We don't have Peter. But we know who does. I'll tell you, if you come and work for Massive Dynamic."

Walter blinked slowly, the way a predator thinks before it pounces. His eyes were dangerously close to loosing control.

"I never renege on my promises, Walter. I trade favor for favor. Work for Massive Dynamic, you'll be appreciated for your genius here, not scorned for it. Whatever you need, you can have. Pick up where you left off."

Walter was quiet for a few moments, "I'm here to reverse the mistakes I've made," he said at last, "I'm here because I've been given another chance to change things, preserve life, rather than search for ways to destroy it. I'd rather die than repeat my life."

"But what about Peter?" Sharpe pressed, "What can you do without him?"

"Nothing," Walter admitted, "They may as well ship me back to the asylum right now. But I can't work for Massive Dynamic." he capped the needle and returned it to his pocket, turning away.

"Peter has already been to see me," Sharpe said evenly, "No one is above trading favors. Do want to know what he needed from me?"

Walter glanced back at her, and his eyes had become sad and distant once more, "I don't believe you. Everyone is above selling their soul, even if I had mine to sell." and he walked to the door.

"Will you be as philosophical at his funeral, Walter?" Sharpe said cuttingly, "How about when they shove you back in the closet, when they have no use for you? Stuck with butterscotch pudding and reruns of the honeymooners at St. Clair's. You'll be back."

Walter let himself out of the office and shut the door. He tried not to tremble as he strode back down the hall, and bid the pretty secretary farewell as he stepped into the elevator. She smiled and waved, and it seemed more of a mockery now than a kindness.

The doors shut and he turned away from the camera to blink a few times, clearing his throat.

Walter emerged in the lobby, and Astrid looked up. Concern bent her features, "Walter?" she asked, rising, "are you alright?"

He smiled weakly, nodding. They bid the receptionist farewell, he signed out, and he and Aster walked back down the white cement steps of Massive Dynamic. He inhaled the bright, warm air, somehow feeling it push the cold and fear from his clothes and hair. He sighed.

"So, what happened?" Astrid asked, walking at his side.

"Nothing," Walter lied, "I couldn't get any help. But I know that Massive Dynamic is involved." he swallowed on the lie- he was taking a serious risk, and he knew it. If something happened to Peter and Olivia, he wouldn't be able to live with the fact he'd passed up the opportunity to save them… "Um, do you think that… what I'm doing is right?" Walter asked, and Astrid looked puzzled, "That solving these mysteries, horrible things that _I_ created…do you think it's the only thing I'm good for is creating pain?"

Astrid smiled brightly, and the memory of the pretty secretary was washed away by its brilliance, "I think you're a genius with morbid tendencies, Walter. But I _don't_ think you're evil." She took his arm, and he was surprised to find that he did not flinch away, "Now, come on, Doctor Chaos- let's go get a sundae."

Walter pulled the syringe out of his pocket, "Can you put this in your purse, first?"

"What the hell is _that_?!"

"Common salt sodium chloride and distilled water," he assured her, "Saline."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three.

Agent Broyals was waiting outside the door of the lab when they returned the university, his grim expression, as usual, was unreadable. Behind closed doors, he addressed them, "I am sorry to inform you that there has been no word of Agent Dunham or Peter Bishop as of yet. But we are still searching, and I came to ask you a few questions, Doctor Bishop."

Walter nodded, "Astoria, if you would excuse us," and they retreated to another corner of the lab for the quiet.

"What exactly did Peter say to you on the phone?" Broyals asked.

The conversation burned into his mind, Walter told him. Broyals nodded, taking down a few notes. "And, after you got the call and reported your findings to Astrid, what possessed you to go to the lab?"

Walter shifted uncomfortably, "I…I don't know. I couldn't sit still and wait. I had to do something."

"Why didn't you wait for Astrid to arrive and escort you? You know it's unsafe for you to be out on your own."

Walter nodded glumly, "Yes, I know. I just…I wasn't thinking clearly."

Broyals frowned, "Had you been drinking, or doing anything that might impair your judgment, Doctor Bishop?"

Walter looked at him flatly, "_No._ If you must know, I fell asleep on the couch playing videogames. Please stop questioning me. I'm certain you can do far more good seeing where they've taken your agent and my son."

Broyals nodded obligingly, "Alright, Doctor Bishop. I'll see what I can do." and he paused, "You wouldn't happen to know what the two of them were doing, or where they were going?"

"No." Lying was coming easy to him, now. Immediately he regretted it. But he could not allow Olivia to suffer the same scorn and disrespect she had when she had engaged in an affair with her partner. It wasn't fair.

Broyals nodded, "Hmm. Thank you, Doctor Bishop. I'm going to need to question Astrid, if you don't mind."

"She's her own person," Walter replied modestly, moving away to gather a fresh lab coat and pull it on. He tried not to listen to his own irrelevant, mixed thoughts that swirled about his ears, seeming to whisper and pull him away from his concentration like flickers of light, teasing him. He though, briefly, of a window, one he may or may not have actually seen, and a cement floor, cool against the palms of his hands and his cheek.

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that Astrid and Broyals had disappeared into the office, and he moved to the chemical cabinet, selecting his own compounds and mixing them on a plastic slide carefully. It took him only a few moments to create his medication and tap the powder into the pill press, and he slammed down the handle of the press, crushing the medications together into a solid form. He dropped the two white pills into his palm, then into his mouth, swallowing them and ignoring the bitter aftertaste as he retuned his equipment to its proper place.

He didn't have time for a relapse, right now. Keeping his thoughts sane was very important, until he found Peter and Olivia. He didn't do them much good crazy. He'd come too close in Sharpe's office, and now he was worried that the few threads of composure he had strung together might snap under the weight of his instability. The meds would do him good- they would anchor him to reality, at least for a little while.

Sighing, Walter continued on, turning on the computers and equipment to warm up as he contemplated where he could apprehend an éclair.

"I told you, I would have been perfectly alright at the lab," Walter said as they ascended they steps of Astrid's apartment, his arms full of brown paper grocery bags.

"And _I_ told_ you_ that I couldn't live with myself I left you there by yourself," Astrid replied, fiddling with her key ring and unlocking the door, "And don't worry about it- there's plenty of room on the couch." She opened the door and lead him inside.

He took in the interior of the apartment- beige carpet, white walls, assorted, and quite random, furniture, "Just set the groceries on the counter here," Astrid tapped the linoleum top of the kitchen counter as she passed, tossing her keys and cell phone onto a side table. "This is the kitchen, that's the living room, down the hall is my room, this door leads to the bathroom- let me go and get you an extra towel…"

A steak of grey fur suddenly wound between Walter's ankles as he set the groceries onto the counter, "Rufus!" He exclaimed.

"No," Astrid frowned, "That's Obi, Shelly's little demon. I don't deal with him, he's Shelly's problem."

Walter was kneeling, gently stroking the cat's soft fur as it rubbed against him, purring softly, "Hello, there," Walter smiled, "Well, aren't you a sweetheart?"

Astrid chuckled, "Yeah, he likes guys. Personally, I think he's gay, because of Shelly." Walter looked up at her, seeming confused, and she changed the subject, "Anyways, I'm going to get a towel. Go ahead and get settled in, and I'll run you a bath."

"Um," he said, and Astrid looked back at him, knowing he was addressing her, but had forgotten her name again, "I really would have been alright at the lab. I've stayed there countless times. I'm a bit of a handful."

"Walter-" Astrid growled.

"Thank you."

She paused, then smiled, shaking her head, "You're such a tool," She sighed, and disappeared down the hall.

Walter found his way to the couch and sat down. Obi jumped into his lap, nuzzling his neck affectionately, and Walter leaned forward to grab the remote from the low table before him, flipping on the television. He was watching a commercial about internet service and absently brushing his fingers over the cat's head when someone else entered the apartment.

"I swear to god, Astrid, work is _hell_. I mean, on my feet, morning to night- It's exhausting." the woman settled her baggage on the floor and kicked it into the closet with a high heeled shoe, kicking both of the stilettos after her bag and slamming the door, "but Tom said that I'm drawing in so many customers for the club that I'm going to get a raise soon…" she pulled off her fur coat and brushed back her blonde-black hair, revealing a crop top and very tight jeans. Walter still took no heed of her, enraptured at the undersea documentary on the screen. She flounced onto the couch beside him, and Obi mewed softly, "So, what's on? Not another one of your boring, soapy movies?"

"The life of pacific starfish," Walter answered, "Starfish have a central mouth on the underside of their bodies, and feed on oysters and other mollusks on shores and the seabed."

She glanced at him, shocked, and let out a scream.

Astrid emerged from the hall in a run as Walter was ducking a blow from a side lamp narrowly, falling out of his seat, "Sherry, stop! Stop, he's alright!" She rushed to Walter, helping him to his feet, "Aw, jeez- Walter, are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Walter stammered, brushing cat hair from his collar, "A casual misunderstanding."

"A casual misunderstanding with a mean right hook, buster," Shelly growled, brandishing the lamp again.

"Shelly, this is Walter Bishop. He works with me at the lab at Harvard, okay? Walter, this is Shelly Dukes, my roommate."

Cautiously, Walter nodded, extending his hand, "A pleasure, miss Dukes."

Grudgingly, Shelly took his hand and shook it, "Yeah, Hi." she glanced up at Astrid, "Astrid, family meeting. _Now_." And Shelly rose, taking Astrid by the hand and tugging her down the hallway.

Walter ignored their hurried whispers and returned to the sofa, placing the throw pillows and settling himself cautiously, lest he have to dodge something else quickly. He was taken off guard and let out a minute squeak of surprise from the back of his throat when Shelly flounced back onto the couch again, nearly in his lap, "Hey, Walter. Sorry about the 'misunderstanding'. But, you know, I deal with creeps everyday at the club, and you surprised me, so…I'm sorry."

"Um, not a problem," Walter replied modestly, wishing there was more room on the couch to put between himself and Shelly, as her thigh brushed his knee, "I'm threatened with household appliances on a daily basis."

Shelly giggled, "I should hope not. So, Astrid tells me you're a doctor."

"I am."

"So what's that like? Are you really smart?" He shook his head suddenly, wondering if Shelly was getting closer or if he were going crazy again.

"You'll have to forgive Shelly," Astrid interrupted, and they looked up, "She's shamelessly attracted to 'older men'…" And she rubbed her index fingertip and her thumb together, indicating money.

Shelly laughed, and Walter felt his ears heat up slightly, "So, where do you live, Walter?" Shelly pressed on, and Astrid shook her head, taking a seat in the recliner and turning her attention to the television.

"Um, I live in an apartment with my son," Walter answered, "I can't remember where it is."

"Your son? That's so cute. How old's the little guy?"

"Twenty-three."

"Walter, your towel's out on the sink, and I think your bath's full, by now," Aster cut in as Shelly looked shocked. Walter nodded, hiding his smile as he got to his feet and headed toward the bathroom.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter four.

_Peter stood before him, his hands in his pockets as he gazed at him distantly. Walter could see nothing else, the world was a blur, except for his son; so different from the way things were for real- the world was clear, and his son a mystery, "Do you believe in angels?" he was asking him._

_Yes._

"_Do you believe that people can be angels?"_

_Yes._

"_Why do you kill angels, Walter?"_

_Peter…_

"_You're stuck here, because you don't believe you belong with the rest of us. You don't believe you belong to the angels. So you kill the angels."_

_Peter, that's not what I…_

"_Walter. You don't think you can be an angel. I know it sounds crazy, Walter. But you have to believe in all that you create._

"_Save me."_

_Peter. _

Walter awoke in a cold sweat, pushing Obi off of himself. His chest heaved under the blankets as he stared up at the ceiling of Aster's apartment from the couch, "Peter," he whispered, and he felt the sting of tears start in his eyes, and his heaving chest grew tight with fear and anger and sadness, "Peter."

Some how, he thought that he would hear his son's distant muttering of "Go to sleep, Walter. I'm here."

Walter sat up, pushing the blankets away and hugging his knees to his chest, "Peter," he mewed into the darkness. No answer. He raised his tremulous voice slightly as a tear ran down his cheek, "Peter!"

He strained his ears, listening as he held his breath. Distinctly he heard Obi roaming the kitchen, and the soft, offset sighing of Astrid and Shelly's separate breath, on different sides of the apartment. There was no one else.

Suddenly, there was a warmth on his cheek, very much like the stroke of fingers on his face. Another tear. Something pulled on his heart, and it hurt terribly, so much that he sobbed openly, pressing his palms to his chest, "Peter!" he cried.

Lights switched on, and Astrid appeared in the hallway, her hair mussed and her eyes misty, "Walter?" she questioned groggily, wrapping her robe around her night shirt. She gasped softly with shock as he looked up at her, crimson tears smearing his face.

"I know where Peter is!" Walter said, still clutching his chest. He climbed to his feet, rubbing the blood from his eyes with his shirttail.

"Walter, lay back down," Astrid said, her professional demeanor back in place, "I'll call the hospital-"

Walter shook his head, "No. I don't have time. We don't have time. I found him, and Olivia…I can't loose them again." He was pulling on his slacks as Shelly emerged from the hall, looking disoriented.

"What's going on…?" she grumbled.

"Walter, calm down," Astrid said reasonably, "Calm down, you just had a dream…"

Walter stood before her, his blood-rimmed eyes perfectly clear, and she stared, "Astrid," he said, shaking his head, "You don't understand. I know. I just _know_. Please, Astrid- you have to _believe_." he pulled on his shirt, buttoning it with shaking hands.

Astrid was silent for a few moments, then bit her lip with a sigh, "Alright, Walter. I'll get dressed." And she headed back toward her bedroom.

"What's going on?" Shelly questioned again.

"It was nice meeting you," Walter said, sitting to pull on his shoes, "But this is nothing you have to trouble yourself with. Go back to bed."

Yawning and shrugging, Shelly scratched her head, "'Kay," and she disappeared into her room.

Walter sighed as he waited, leaning his head back and closing his eyes as his hand strayed back to his aching chest. Astrid emerged in a few moments, buckling her pistol around her hip, "Let's go, Walter," She said finally.

"Are you sure this is the place?" Astrid asked, and Walter nodded, his breath creating clouds in the cold, dry air. They stood in an empty lot just outside a fenced building just outside the path of landing planes. The old, condemned parking structure had not even traces of casual vandalism. It was quiet, as they had walked a good distance from the car.

The cement looked cold.

"I don't see any guards," Astrid said, and Walter shook his head to clear his thoughts, as they began to grow crowded. "No-wait- two, right there at the base of the structure." her hand moved to her holster, "We can't get in without them seeing us."

Walter leaned forward, curling his fingers around the frozen chain link. He glared at the structure, concentrating, but he could feel nothing but cold, even as the pain in his chest had subsided. He rubbed his arms, shivering, "You had better call Agent Broyals for assistance."

"Assistance for what? Invading a parking structure in the middle of the night for a gut feeling? No offence, but that sounds a bit crazy."

Walter delved into the pocket of his own trench coat, pulling out his cell phone. He glanced at the dark horizon, then carefully dialed 1, and send. "Go," he said softly, and tossed the phone into a garbage can.

"What…?" Astrid exclaimed as he jumped to grab the top of the chain link, "Walter, you can't-!"

An immense roaring filled the air, and Astrid flinched as a 747 tipped in for a landing at the nearby air field, "Come on!" Walter yelled for the other side of the fence.

In the mask of the jet, they sprinted across the asphalt and into the dark parking structure. When the tremendous noise had ended, they found themselves pressed into the shadows of a pillar near the toll booth, "Who the hell do you think you are?!" Astrid demanded in a whisper, "Pulling some kind of James Bond jet timing crap?!"

"We're in, aren't we?!" Walter retorted.

They carefully peeked around the corner, and shrank back as a guard approached, holding his carbine idly at his hip as he hummed softly. He passed without notice, and they could breathe once more, "That's a big gun," Walter whimpered.

"I want one," Astrid said, drawing her pistol quietly.

"Are you insane?!" Walter mouthed as she moved away from him, toward the guard's back.

"Look who's talking."

With a sharp blow to the back of the neck, the guard fell to his knees, giving a cry. Aster brought the grip of her gun down again, on the top of his head, silencing him. But she had already gained the attention of the second guard, who raised his rifle to his chest, running toward her, "Hey! You, hands up!"

Walter glanced around in a panic, and his hand closed around a twisted bit of rusted rebar at his feet. Mustering all of his strength, he shut his eyes, stepping out of the shadows and swinging at the second guard. Steel met flesh and crushed bone with a clang, and Walter let out a cry, dropping the rebar. He opened his eyes again as the guard collapsed into a bloody heap at his feet, unconscious. He swallowed, glancing around guiltily.

"_Damn_, Walter!" Astrid laughed, then sobered, leaning over her victim, "Get his gun, and let's go."

They found their way to a maintenance stairway that led to the lower floors of the parking area. When they cautiously pushed open the door to the lower level, Walter stilled Astrid with a hand to the forearm, and he gaped, "My god- it's the lab."

They stared in eerie amazement at the basement that stretched before them, nearly an exact replica of the one they shared at Harvard, "My god, I was right," Walter whispered, "Someone _knows_ me. Someone knew my walk to the university, where I would be, even after all these years… someone knows the lab, almost perfectly…someone _knows_ me."

Shots rang out, and Astrid pulled the door shut hurriedly as the cement flew apart behind them, "Well, they sure as hell know you're here!"

"Did you know that spirits are sometimes said to ring the phone, to let someone know that their watching over them?" Walter shouted over the gunfire as Astrid took cover beside him, "Like when you pick up, and no one is there? I was calling Peter, just a while ago… so he'd know we were on our way."

"And all these years I thought it was telemarketers," Astrid said, "Please, Walter, don't start spiraling out on me! Not now!"

Walter smiled at her, "Three on the left, two on the right. Another ran in to the office."

"Trade," Astrid took the carbine from him, shoving the revolver into his hands, "You're way too nuts for this one. Cover me," and she flung the door open again.

"What's covering?! I lift beakers for a living!"

"Just shoot, damn it!" and Astrid plunged into the line of fire.

In the time it took for Walter to empty all six chambers blindly, four of the guards were down. Aster aimed for the next, and a bullet caught her thigh. She let out a cry and shot the hidden shooter as the last escaped into the office with the first.

Walter rushed to her as she lay on the floor, hissing curses as she clutched her leg. Walter dropped the pistol, tending to her wound, "Walter," she interrupted as he tore a strip of cloth from the sleeve of his shirt beneath his trench coat with his teeth, "Stop. I'll be fine. It just stings a little."

"Hold still- your loosing a lot of blood," He said, synching the knot around her leg, "I'll get you some morphine-"

She grabbed him by the collar, "Listen to me, you crazy bastard!" She snapped, "Go get your son, Walter! We don't have time for this. I'll cover you."

"You mean, shoot aimlessly?"

She smiled, "Something like that. Now go- just don't forget to pick me up on your way out, 'kay?"

"'Kay." And she released him, slamming a speed loader into the revolver and giving it back to him. She sat up, holding the semi-automatic in her lap.

"Go get Peter."

Walter nodded, gripping the pistol in both hands as he went toward the office. He ducked low as shots were fired, and there was a yelp as the shots ceased. Astrid had scored another. Walter felt his heart give another long, painful tug, and the door crashed open as he kicked it, aiming squarely for what was on the other side.

Computer screens made the room look blue, and illuminated the creases on the trembling doctor's face as he pointed a gun at Walter, "Stay back!" he commanded.

"Where is my son?" Walter demanded, shaking his head to one side. His thoughts were growing worst, screams instead of whispers, and he struggled with all he was to control them, "Tell me where Peter and Agent Dunham are, _now_."

"Stay back!" The man cried again as Walter stepped closer, "God damn it, stay back!"

Walter felt anger consume him, and his eyes began to bleach out. The screams were too loud. The world seemed to fade into harsh shades of blue, like shattered glass. He heard his own breath, the beat of his own heart, and he blinked slowly. He dropped the gun, striding toward the man. The doctor managed to let out a shot, missing Walter entirely, before he was slammed to the wall by the throat. He let out a strangled cry, clawing at the hold.

"Do you have any idea what I could do to you?" Walter hissed softly, "In what ways I could mutilate you, disfigure you, twist your anatomy beyond recognition? Your flesh is my clay, my scalpel is my tool to create horrible masterpieces that would make Michael Angelo tear out his own eyes…"

Screaming erupted from within the office, then laughter.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter five.

Walter was staring at the blood that dripped from his own arms as he came to, trembling and panting in exhilaration. His tongue found his own dry, cracked lips, and Astrid called to him again, "Walter!"

His eyes widened, and he stepped backward out of the office, covering his mouth with his palm. _Jesus. _He suddenly felt sick, and shut his eyes to keep from swooning. He turned away, slamming the door behind himself as he jarred lab equipment from their places to crash onto the floor. "Walter!" Astrid cried, fearing him hurt.

Walter righted himself, blinking slowly to calm his thundering heart. It didn't matter what he had done. He didn't have the time. He had to find Peter and Olivia, while he was still sane. He cleared his throat, answering raspily, "I'm alright. I…they're down in the storage rooms," he scrambled for something to wipe away the blood before Astrid could see. The stains would not come out of the trench coat sleeves, and he rubbed his face and hands with the cotton dust cover until his skin burned. He stooped to retrieve the pistol once more, "We have to hurry, there's not much time…"

Astrid had pulled herself to her feet in and attempt to get to the office, and was leaning heavily against the side rail as she watched him. Ignoring her questioned and slightly fearful gaze, Walter descended the steps, taking her arm around his shoulder. She pushed him away, "No. I'll be fine. You don't have time to drag me along- go get them." he suspected that she was slightly sickened by the fresh blood that stained his clothes.

Walter nodded, "Alright. Be careful."

"Don't forget me."

"I won't." he swept across the lab and threw the door open to the stairs that lead down into the storage rooms. Holding the pistol at the ready, he hopped the last few steps, landing on cement in the darkness. He blinked, moving slowly as his eyes adjusted, his breath nearly still in his throbbing chest as blood surged in his burning ears. The silence felt like cotton pressed to his senses. Storage. But which one?

He began to make out shapes in the dark, doors and open doorways. The was a loud clanking as he rammed his knee into a gurney, hissing a curse. He moved on, painfully aware of the echoes of his own footsteps from the distant walls. A light cord brushed his face, and he tried it, finding it dead. His chest felt like bursting, when he spotted the window.

He stared in shock at the old, discarded painting of the window before him, crooked in its old wooden frame as it hung in the dust. He found himself kneeling, touching his hand to the smooth, cement floor. It was cold. He stooped low, feeling the cold against his cheek. He pushed himself back up, looking over his shoulder at the door.

_pleasedon'''._

He reached out to touch the deadbolt on to door, and his fingers closed around the rusty iron handle. He concentrated, heaving the bolt back and slamming it down with a boom. His son was here.

The room before him was small and empty, and his eyes thinned with effort to see, before his vision flashed and he stumbled forward, caught around the neck as the revolver was wrenched from his grip. His arm was twisted behind his back painfully and he let out a cry, struggling.

The cold barrel of the gun was pressed to his temple, and he flinched away, "Don't shoot!" he cried.

The gun moved away slightly, "Walter?" Olivia asked.

"What?" Peter exclaimed, his grip on his father's arm loosening, "Walter, what are you doing here?!"

His eyes felt numb in the bright, flashing lights of the squad cars. He didn't much notice the iv they stuck into his arm, as he watched the commotion from the back of the ambulance. Royal was talking to Olivia and Peter, who kept shaking their heads and repeating their stories- they didn't know who had taken them. They had been attacked in the car when they had left the restaurant, and they had forced Peter to call Walter so that no suspicions would be raised by their disappearance.

Walter wondered why it felt so bad to be right. He suddenly wished he weren't such a precarious individual. His fingers drummed out a piano chord on the side of the gurney. He blinked tiredly, and felt himself dozing off, humming the 'ABC's', or perhaps 'twinkle twinkle little star'.

He awoke again and the ambulance was moving, the steady skip of the tires over pavement in rhythm with the gentle hum of the engine. He felt something touching him, and realized that someone held his hand. He opened his eyes slowly to see Peter sitting at his side, as silent as a sentinel. "Am I going back to St. Clair's?" Walter asked softly, and Peter glanced down at him, his hand becoming stiff in his embarrassment.

"No, Walter," he said. "You're never going back there. I promise."

Walter smiled softly, closing his eyes, "I love you, Peter," he said softly, and pretended to fall asleep. Peter was silent for a few moments, then sighed. It amused Walter a bit, to think that young people believed old people fell asleep so quickly. He refrained a chuckle, and hoped Peter didn't see the tear flee down the other side of his face, away from the light. He lay still, wondering when his son's hands had grown so much, from tiny, soft digits to strong, powerful hands that made his own hands seem weak and small.

Final Chapter.

"So, how is he holding up?" Olivia asked over the phone to Peter as he strode along the outdoor corridor of the university.

"He's alright," Peter answered, "Just as weird, you know. I don't think the stroke had any affect on him." Peter stopped, scratching the back of his neck, "There is one thing, though."

"What's that?"

"_He won't leave me alone_. He's all… attached. He won't let me out of his sight, I swear…hold on…" he paused, glancing over his shoulder, and he retraced his steps along the hall. "Hi, Walter," he frowned, as his father crouched slightly behind a massive potted plant.

"Um, hello," he answered sheepishly, petting the plant, "Have you seen this plant? It has quite interesting leaves, if you look at them."

Peter pointed back down the hall, "Lab, _now_. You have to keep an eye on Astrid- it's your fault she got shot, you know."

Hunching his shoulders slightly as he put his hands into the pockets of his lab coat, Walter slunk off down the hall.

When Peter returned to the phone, Olivia was laughing, "Oh, shut up," he smiled, "It's really annoying, okay?"

"It's sweet," Olivia assured him, "So, did he say anything about what happened? How he found us?"

Peter shook his head, "No. whenever I ask about it, he just looks really confused, and ignores me."

"So he doesn't know?"

"I don't know. He could be faking. But what's really bothering me is the fact he got a get-well card from a stripper."

"Shelly's a singer and dancer at a night club," Walter protested from behind him, and Peter turned.

"_Get back to the lab!"_ Peter hissed, lunging at his father and making him flinch away, "Go! Shoo!" and Walter scampered away, "My bad. 'singer and dancer at a nightclub'."

Olivia laughed again, "You'd better watch him- he gets into too much."

Peter smiled, "Yeah. I guess."

The interior of the office was dark as Nina Sharpe watched Royal over the top of the black and white photograph. The photograph showed an enlarged scene of an office interior, the walls splattered with blood and flesh. In the center of the office, a corpse, eyes wide and lily-white in death, lay filleted open like a fish on the tabletop, ribcage split apart to expose vital organs. From what she had gathered from the report, the heart had been removed. On the wall in the faint, out-of-focus background, letters of blood, slightly tilting upward, wrote: KILL NO ANGELS.

"He's a sociopath, Royal. What did you expect?" she mused, tossing the pictures onto the desktop. She seemed unaffected by the horrible images.

"Insane, yes. Violently insane, no. Bishop is our best bet at solving the pattern- you know that." Royal scooped up the photographs and slid them back into a manila envelope, "We can't afford for him to loose more of his mind than he already has."

"So? How does this involve Massive Dynamic?" Sharpe asked flatly.

"That means you can't be using my people to root out competing companies' lab facilities," he growled, "It hasn't been released to the press, but we know that lab belonged to a pharmaceutical company that is a leading adversary to Massive Dynamics."

Sharpe spread her hands, "What a coincidence," she said, "I had no idea."

"It was very clever of you, Nina. Telling their spy that you were after Walter Bishop, then baiting them into kidnapping his son and agent Dunham. What you didn't count on was Walter finding his son himself, under very mysterious circumstances. What did you hope to gain, putting my people in such reckless danger?"

"I have no idea what you're going on about," Sharpe said, "But suppose I did. Why won't you let me have access to Walter and Peter Bishops' personal files?"

"They're none of your business, Nina. What do you want from Walter Bishop?"

Sharpe smiled softly, watching him unblinkingly with her cold, ash-colored eyes, "Immunity," she replied.

END.


End file.
